


the last

by aloffie



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Letters, M/M, War, War AU, World War II, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29127258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloffie/pseuds/aloffie
Summary: Dream’s letter, and when George receives it.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	the last

George sits at the window.

The sky is a beautiful blue, and clouds are scattered throughout.

_ “Like your eyes.” _

He sits, and he stares.

_ It’s cold without you,  _ he thinks.

In his hands, he gently smooths the unopened letter. It crinkles gently under his fingertips, and he’s sent back to the first letter he’d written to Dream.

They were only twelve at the time.

The pen had been cold underneath his fingers. The paper was rough and dry on his table. The candle was warm, yet narrow in it’s lighting.

Dream had made fun of his horrendous grammar when he gave it to him the next day. Yet, he’d said it with that golden smile of his.

George’s writing only got better from there.

Incomprehensible chicken scratch became legible ribbons of words. Mismatched tellings became melodic sonatas.

_ You always did say my handwriting was pretty,  _ he thinks.

Who knew he’d be writing those letters to him when he was at war?

George glances down at the letter in his hands. It smells vaguely of ash and dirt. The paper is tinted yellow. It threatens to crumble at the seams.

Taking a breath, he opens it and is greeted with the familiar scrawl that is Dream’s writing.

George hears his voice as he reads.

_ Dear George, _

_ Your introduction in your last letter was chaste, was it not? _

_ What are you worried for?  _

_ I am still writing this letter for you, so don’t write with dread. You write best when you’re happy, and I love seeing you that way. So, keep your head held high, Okay my love? _

George can only think,  _ That’s impossible. _

_ But addressing your questions, I’m doing fine. The training is as rigorous as ever. However, we’re finally getting sent off today. Somewhere towards the East. We aren’t being given the details just yet. _

_ Together, the others and I had a toast around the campfire. It was a send-off of sorts. I wish you could’ve seen the way we all drank ourselves stupid. _

_ But that’s enough about me.  _

Dream never liked writing about himself. He avoids talking of the places he’s in, and George lets him.

_ How are you doing dearest? Are you sitting in the dining room? Maybe the living room? Is Patches doing well? _

They’re the same questions he asks each time. George hears the echo of his laugh after it.

_ Don’t feed her too much, alright?  _

_ I won’t,  _ George thinks.

_ Oh, how I long to see you both. Are the hydrangeas blooming outside around this time? The blue always did go with your eyes. _

George can hear the footsteps clatter in, drenched boots and messy hair following in their wake. In Dream’s hands are blue hydrangeas, and they’re vibrant and alive. Drops of dew are on them, and George berates him for getting water in the house.

He puts them in a vase nonetheless.

They've long wilted since the last bloom.

George can't find it in himself to replace them.

  
  


_ I know I ask the same all the time, but tell me. I’ll always read them through. As many times as I can. _

George knows he does the same with every piece Dream writes to him.

_ I just want you to be aware, in case of my lack of writing in the near future, that this new location is dangerous. Knowing you, you’ll be furious with me. Like I said, we’ll be shipped out soon. I’m not sure if I’ll have the opportunity to write. _

_ So write for me, alright? Even though you know now that I can’t write back. Even though I may not get them. _

_ You will,  _ George thinks.  _ You will. _

_ Tell me about Patches and that strange color of fur you didn’t notice before. Tell me about the lilies outside of Mr. Montenegro’s house once more. Tell me about the bread and the meat you had for supper last night. _

_ I’ll read it all. _

There’s desperation in his letter, and George so desperately pushes the dread that builds in his gut.

_ I wish the carrier would come farther, but it’s too dangerous. _

_ Everything I am, I will give to you. I fight each day knowing you’re there for me. That you care for me. _

_ Don’t speak like that,  _ George thinks. The anxiety boils in his stomach.

_ I long for your touch. The morning kisses you shower upon me. The longing glances you give me. _

_ And I’ll give more,  _ George thinks.  _ Come back and I’ll give as many as you want. _

_ I miss the flowers outside. I miss the pond nearby. I miss the blue sky above our house. _

_ And you’ll see it again,  _ George thinks.  _ Come back and you’ll see them again. _

_ I love you, George Davidson. _

_ Please, don’t forget me. _

_ I’ll be waiting for your next letter.  _

_ Your beloved,  _

_ Dream _

It’s abrupt. And it pains him. 

George sets down the letter, and he stares out at the sky.

An ache in his heart stabs at him. Again, and again, and again. There’s a swell of tears in his eyes, but he denies them.

George stands straight, and he sleeps, knowing that he’ll get another letter. Another letter in the mail, telling him that Dream is doing fine.

That Dream is being sent home.

That the war is over. 

That he’s alive.   
  


***

George doesn’t get another letter after that.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> yeah if you couldn’t tell i read dear dream and here i am writing a clobbered together angst fic because i can 
> 
> any comments, criticisms, and questions are appreciated!! <3
> 
> twt: [@alofffie](https://twitter.com/alofffie)


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